Page 21 of The Heart’s Choice (Cotton Cops Mysteries #1)
Chapter 20
Bridget
H oping Brownlow’s bales would provide at least a week’s worth of work, Roger returned to the spinning room. He refused to admit he wanted to speak at greater length with Bridget, to find out more about her impression of Beatrice’s feelings for him.
His gut tightened when he discovered another woman had taken her place. Something must be terribly wrong if she hadn’t come to work. A few minutes later, thanks to being pointed in the right direction by other spinners, he located her sister. “Meg, isn’t it?” he asked. “Where’s Bridget?”
There was no mistaking the grief in her eyes. “She couldn’t breathe this morning. I had to leave her.”
His thoughts went to Beatrice. “Does Miss Parker know?”
“No, sir. I haven’t seen her today.”
“I’ll make sure she’s told,” he replied, unwilling to contemplate the fate of a young woman left to suffer alone in a hovel.
Confident this was a day when the mathematics class was scheduled, he soon reached his study. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to enter slowly. He didn’t want to alarm Beatrice nor give the young workers something to gossip about.
His arrival caused a stir, but Beatrice’s green eyes betrayed her as she came to greet him. She was glad to see him.
He inhaled her perfume as he whispered close to her ear, “Bridget hasn’t come to work.”
“I’ll go at once,” she replied, immediately understanding the implications.
“You cannot go alone. I’ll accompany you.”
“Very well,” she said.
After she’d explained the urgency to the students, they were on their way within minutes. When she linked her arm with his, hope surged, prompting him to take a risk. He couldn’t stick to his resolve to shut her out of his heart. “You belong on my arm, Beatrice,” he said.
Her reply astounded him. “I know that. We just have to convince my father.”
He suddenly didn’t care that they were on a public street, in full view of passers-by. He took her into his embrace and kissed her.
* * *
Closing her eyes, Bea surrendered to the power of Roger’s kiss. He nibbled her lips gently at first, then the kiss intensified as he groaned, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue. Delicious desires blossomed in secret places when his tongue delved into her mouth. It seemed natural to welcome the invasion with her own tongue. The taste of pure male was intoxicating. His subtle cologne stole up her nostrils.
He gathered her closer to his hard body, his arms gripping her tightly. Lost in the spell, she risked opening her eyes, dismayed to see they’d been encircled by a group of grinning youths. Apparently sensing her withdrawal, Roger broke off the kiss. His satisfied smile vanished when he saw the lads. “Have you never seen a man kiss a woman before?” he demanded, shielding her from their view. “Get about your business.”
They ran off, laughing and whistling.
“We’ll be the talk of the town,” she lamented.
“Do you care?” he asked.
She wilted in the face of his intense gaze. “It’s a complicated situation,” she replied, realizing she wasn’t answering his question.
“I love you, Beatrice. If you love me, it’s not complicated at all.”
She longed to explain, but her father had forbidden it. “Please, let’s hurry to see Bridget,” she pleaded, as she pulled away from him.
Jaw clenched, he nodded. “You do love me, Beatrice and I’m not giving up without a fight,” he said.
Hope warred with fear. She couldn’t deny she loved him, but her cousin and his odious friend would fight him tooth and nail. Who knew what the pair was capable of?
She accepted his arm and they set off once more for Red Lane.
* * *
It wasn’t the first time Roger had entered the home of one of his workers, but he’d never seen such a dank hovel as Bridget’s dwelling. The cellar brought back too many dark memories he’d sooner forget. The windowless place reeked of tobacco and human waste. The walls were black. Eyes closed, the girl lay in a box bed in one corner. Her chest rose and fell, making an eerie wheezing sound that filled the room.
A man slumped in a rocking chair, sucking on a pipe. Roger wrinkled his nose as clouds of acrid blue smoke stole up his nostrils.
“Her father,” Beatrice explained. “Mr. Mann.”
Roger yanked the pipe out of the man’s mouth and threw it into the street. “Get out of here,” he growled.
Mann leaped to his feet, fists clenched, his nose inches from Roger’s, but he seemed to quickly lose his courage. He backed away and slunk out of the house without a word.
Roger left the door open for fresh air to dissipate the smoke. “How is she?” he asked, humbled to realize he’d never concerned himself with the health of any particular worker. Beatrice had forced him to see his workforce as human beings and not just a means to an end.
“Not good,” she whispered. “I watched my mother’s lungs lose the battle in the struggle for air. This sounds the same.”
They kept vigil for what seemed like hours, Beatrice holding Bridget’s hand, Roger in the chair Mann had vacated. Strangely, it felt right to be with the woman he loved while she tended a dying girl, promising to look after Meg.
“She’s gone,” Beatrice finally rasped when the wheezing stopped. “No more pain.”
Roger took her into his arms and rocked her while she sobbed. “I’m sorry,” he said, though the words seemed inadequate.
“I’m not sure what to do next,” she said.
“I’ll fetch the undertaker,” he replied. “Will you be all right here alone for a little while?”
She nodded and he was about to leave when Mann staggered into the hovel. Red-rimmed eyes betrayed his grief. He went straight to the bed where Bridget lay, gathered her into his arms, and wept.
“Go,” Beatrice urged Roger when he hesitated. “He won’t harm me.”
“I’ll see to the funeral,” Roger told Bridget’s father.
“Least tha can do,” Mann hissed between gritted teeth.